


Much Argue About Nothing

by Englandwouldfall



Series: As you like it [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Graduation panic, Humor, M/M, Relationship Problems, Roommates, communication issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englandwouldfall/pseuds/Englandwouldfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s ninety percent sure they have the sort of relationship that Charlie would write fanfiction about, but final year of college sucks, Dean’s broke and jobless, and Cas <em> does not know the meaning of giving someone space </em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Much Argue About Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> As a warning, I didn't particularly intent to write this. I was just having a serious case of my final year of uni being rubbish and stressful, and decided that I want to vent about it (via Dean). So, basically, this boils down to Dean being stressed and a bit miserable and Cas not really knowing how to help. I'm sure it won't add a lot to your life, but I enjoyed writing it and I feel better and I thought I might as well post it, as it's written.
> 
> I don't have a Cas, but I do have the best housemates a girl could ask for only, unlike Dean, I don't get to keep them at the end of this. Rubbish.
> 
> If you get through all the angst there's fluff and stuff. I promise.

Dean’s been in a shit mood for a couple of weeks, and Cas sort of got caught in the cross fire. 

It wasn’t initially Castiel’s fault, by any means, it’s just that final year really really sucks. Everything’s suddenly actually worth something, like tip your whole degree into a different classification type something, and he’s got so many deadlines and assignments and crap to do that he might actually implode. He’s had to pretty much quit work, because he just _can’t_ when he has this much reading to catch up on, which meant he had to ask both Ellen and Bobby for extra money, which makes him feel so goddamn useless and worthless. He’s been pretty much out of the LARP scene since the beginning of the academic year, but this side of Christmas he had to make the damn thing official, and even Charlie’s taken a step back. He hasn’t been to a frigging bar for just about forever, because by the time he’s done with his books all he wants to do is collapse into bed and fill his head with enough shit TV that he doesn’t have to think about _graduation_. 

He’s applied for a bunch of jobs he doesn’t want, gotten rejected by some and ignored by others, and still doesn’t have a damn clue what he wants to do. He doesn’t feel any more employable than he felt before college, but he’s growingly aware that he has a fuck load of debt and people are going to start asking for their money back. God knows how he’s going to pay back Bobby and Ellen, let alone the actual student loans, and way back when he’d had this idea that he’d have a job by the time Sam went to college, meaning _he_ could be the one sending rent money. It’s looking increasingly like that’s going to be even more money he’s going to owe Bobby and Ellen at the end of this, and the whole thing is an ever-present headache. He hates second guessing whether he can justify buying beer. He’s a grocery shop away from his overdraft limit. He kinda feels like he’s been on the edge of having an honest to god panic attack for a month. 

On top of all that crap, everyone and their mother is going through some kind of relationship or friendship crisis, because this is crunch time; it’s like the last few weeks of high school all over again, when every long term relationships collapsed on itself before everyone went their separate ways. Long distance relationships kind of suck, but they’re bordering on the age when you’re supposed to think that relationships might start lasting forever. It’s no longer crazy to plan your future around someone, at least for some people. Obviously, he and Cas sort of decided when they were in the beginning of this that they were going to stay living together, probably in the same apartment that they’ve had for the past couple of years, and that seemed _fine_ before everyone started asking about it. He’s really done with the raised eyebrows and some quasi-friend voicing that their relationship was quite new though, really, wasn’t it, and weren’t they worried that it would blow up in their faces? And, before all that, he honestly hadn’t been. 

Charlie is almost definitely leaving come the summer, to peruse the big bad adventure of post-graduate education. Benny and Victor and Crowley and Dorothy are also dispersing in the wind. As far as Dean can work out, they’re going to be left with Garth and Meg as their only socialisation options, which…. Yeah, isn’t exactly ideal. Maybe they should ditch Kansas and head for greener pastures, too, because most of the reasons for staying around are leaving. 

All the good things about college sort of just died, which is abstractly a good thing because before this year he wasn’t sure how he was going to transition out of this life, but it’s really crap right now. It’s really, really crap right now. 

Cas has got a job. Apparently, he was thinking about graduation in fucking September, which is when he started applying for crap. Cas hasn’t had a job before in his life, and Dean’s equal parts pleased and pissed off that his life is just falling into place whilst Dean is the same old cluster fuck disaster. Cas’ grades are good enough that he’s not only guaranteed to graduate, but guaranteed to graduate well; the only thing up for grabs now is how well, exactly, he does. Dean’s basically a douchebag for resenting him for it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. 

And, shit, this relationship _is_ a big deal. It’s the biggest deal of Dean’s life. Everyone _is_ right. They fell into something undeniably huge thing without really thinking all that much about it, and maybe they should have done. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back was Cas being a bit too forthcoming with information about their sex life at the latest of their sex ed classes. Apparently, if you invite kids to ask anything about sex, love and relationships, then present them with an actual couple, they will try and cause the most amount of embarrassment possible. Whilst Dean’s usually the more prone to embarrassment (Cas has absolutely no shame whatsoever and is perfectly happy to discuss any aspect of their sex life with anyone who asks, if he feels like it might be helpful to them in any way), he doesn’t generally mind. It’s just, he woke up this morning feeling like a worthless piece of unemployable crap, resisted the urge to drink excessively or buy some cigarettes or something (like he has the money, anyway), then had Castiel going on about one of their failed sexcapades to a bunch of gleeful seventeen year olds. 

At the time, it had just been kinda funny. Cas is the one who likes to try things and experiment and shit, and Dean goes along with it because sometimes it leads to awesome sex and sometimes it leads to them both naked and laughing at what a frigging disaster that was, and neither scenario is really a loss. It’s just… fun. 

With the retelling, Dean comes across like a dorky, impotent failure, and he wanted Cas to shut up. Cas also still doesn’t understand telepathy, so didn’t register Dean’s discomfort until Dean was slightly flushed and staring down some spotty kid who’d probably never got laid in his life. By that point, the damage to Dean’s currently fragile ego was done. 

Cue in awkward ride home, Cas beginning to start a conversation about communication and then deciding better of it, and Dean requesting some _space_. 

Cas, clearly, does not know how to give a person space. 

Making homemade burgers and the sweet potato wedges that Dean really likes is not space. It’s being a passive aggressive little shit, and practically demands that Dean gives up his space and tells Cas exactly what’s on his mind, and that’s specifically what Dean doesn’t want to do. Right now, he doesn’t want to play happy families with Cas, eating great food and pretending that his chest doesn’t hurt and he kinda hates himself. He wants _space_. 

Worse, there’s no way to respond without being a douchebag. If he takes the beautiful burger and eats in his room, then he’s definitely a prick. If he eats the burger in silence, he’s a prick too. Refusing the food is downright petty. He can literally only thank Cas for the burger he doesn’t want then sit and make idle chit chat, then offer to do the washing up. That’s the only way he doesn’t make this worse, and that’s definitely not space and, Jesus Christ, how hard is it to give someone space? 

He wants one fucking evening to himself. 

And, maybe he’s shunned most kinds of physical contact for a few days, and maybe he spent a few nights this week in his bedroom alone, but this is precisely what he means; he just needs a few hours to think and to be alone, then maybe he’ll stop being such a shitty boyfriend, a shitty best friend and a shitty person. 

“Dude,” Dean says, after he’s finished his burger in just about silence. He hasn’t thanked him for the food, even if it was stupidly good, but it wasn’t the meal alone he’d have chosen if Cas had left it up to him. “I get that you’re trying to help, but do you think you could not?” 

“Not try to help,” Cas repeats, and he sounds slightly indignant. But, God, of course he does, because he set himself up for it. He’s insulted because of the burgers and the lack of thanks or appreciation, but he probably could have taken a guess at their reception too. Either he was naive, or he was hopeful but ready to get self-righteous when Dean was a bitch about the burgers. 

Dean absolutely does not want an argument. He just wants space, for fuck’s sake. 

“Don’t do this,” Dean says, pressing his fingers into his forehead. He loves Castiel down to his very bones, but he’s stressed and miserable and right now Cas is making it worse, and he’s so used to Cas making everything better automatically, and it’s so far from his fault it’s stupid, it’s just what it is. It’s just life being a bitch and Dean not dealing with it very well. “Just, can we drop it? This is on me, Cas, so –” 

“I am aware it’s on you,” 

“Great,” Dean says, “So why don’t you just let me deal with it?” 

“You are taking it out on me because you’re frustrated about Charlie and Benny coming to you with their problems.” 

He _is_ kinda frustrated about those things, just because it sucks that all this crap comes along all at once, and given Charlie and Benny are basically his best friends outside of Cas, he actually cares about their romance dramas. But, on this occasion, he is kinda pissed at Cas too. Not for much that he can reasonable hold Cas accountable for, because it’s not Cas’ duty to read his mind and know exactly what to do (they don’t live in a chick flick; relationships do not work like that), but actually… Cas’ constant insistence that there’s nothing wrong with _them_ and it’s always something extraneous, is damned annoying and unhelpful. Dude needs to take some responsibility for his inability to give Dean some goddamn space when he asks for it. Cas needs to understand that neither of them are exactly angels in this mess. 

“No, Cas, I’m taking it out on you because you just try to throw sex at all our problems and because you don’t _listen to me_ , because you think I’m such a goddamn idiot that I have no right to say if and when I want space. I’m too stupid to do that.” 

Also, Dean is absolutely terrible at not arguing with Cas. 

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Cas says, eyes narrowing slightly. Maybe that stems slightly from Dean’s own issues, but it’s not _all_ on him. And also, that was the most insignificant point of the speech, which is like _ninety percent_ of the problem. 

“Fine, you just think you’re smarter. I’m taking it out on you because you’re a self-righteous sanctimonious dick, sometimes, and it pisses me off.” Cas’ expression crumples, slightly. “Don’t be a baby, Cas, you know I’m a self-indulgent, hedonistic fuck up, too. That’s why we work.” 

“We ‘work’ because we irritate each other and are aware of each other’s flaws.” 

“No, we _work_ because we know who each other are and we like each other anyway. It’s important to me that you know I’m an asshole, Cas, because then I’m not such a frigging disappointment. But they don’t print that on Hallmark cards, so you get it into your head that there’s something wrong with us because neither of us are stuck on a pedestal,” Dean says, stomach twisting, “And this is why I wanted space, Cas, because everything I say right now is wrong to you, and I just want to wallow in peace, and you won’t let me.” 

Castiel nods slightly, closing himself off. Normally, Dean finds that defence mechanism frustrating, but in this instance it’s exactly what he wants. Dean lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, some of the tension in his shoulders dissipating. 

“Do you want me to go out for the evening?” Cas asks. 

“No, man,” Dean sighs, “I’ll go to Charlie’s. It’s my bad mood.” 

“Will you come back tonight?” Cas asks, and Dean’s so achingly relieved that Cas has _finally_ listened, because that’s not a request, or an accusation, it’s just a question. A loaded one, maybe, but Dean doubts that’s Cas’ fault. 

Which is probably why he tells Cas he will be back, before he texts Charlie back and grabs his jacket and his car keys. Cas has folded himself onto the sofa with one of his books, and Dean makes a note to actually just let the guy read in peace next time he asks. He probably owes him that. He probably owes him a lot more than he’s giving him right now. 

He texts Cas from the car to thank him for the food, because the burgers were spectacularly good and he’s not a complete ass. 

* 

Charlie’s girlfriend troubles aren’t concentrated around her recent ex, Gilda, but her ex before that. The Gilda thing was mostly doomed from the start, as far as Dean’s concerned, because it was a LARP spawned whirlwind romance and Charlie always liked the idea of Gilda more than she actually liked her, because neither of them really knew a damn thing about each other. It took Charlie a couple of months to work that out, by which point the relationships had taken a deviation into slightly messy. 

Dorothy, though, is the current problem. Charlie’s long term girlfriend of most of sophomore and junior year. They went on a summer road trip around America, for fucks sake, before Dorothy freaked out about how serious they were getting and broke it off. Cue a few months of post-relationships sex, both of them taking in turns to want to get back together and then wanting to call time, before they eventually drew a line under the whole thing and were ‘friends’. 

“She’s going to the West Coast,” Charlie says, “What’s the big deal about California anyway?” 

“Preaching to the choir,” Dean says, because Sam is frigging obsessed with Stanford University, and the idea of being that far away makes him feel antsy. Makes him want to pack his bags and follow him. 

“And I know we’re over, but I thought we were endgame. Like you and Cas, Mulder and Scully, Ross and Rachel. But, California is far, Dean. Game _over._ ” 

Dean’s not really sure if he can help, but Charlie never seems too bothered about the dearth of words of wisdom and, hey, Dean’s pretty sure him spinning some line isn’t going make any of this suck any less. Dorothy is still going to go to California because it’s what’s good for her, and Charlie is still going to head east or south-ish for post grad because that’s what’s good for her, and they’ll probably still be in love and crap. He could tell her that it’s not over till they’re both dead, but it probably _is_ over and having hope that is not is just going to hurt more when one of them gets married to someone else. Telling her _that_ isn’t going to make it any easier right now, either. 

Misery just loves company. 

“You arguing with Cas?” Charlie asks. Dean raises an eyebrow at her because, seriously, he did not give her that intel. He doesn’t really want to talk or think about the Cas stuff and, anyway, Charlie has bigger problems right now. “Can read you like a book, Winchester.” 

“We should blow up some aliens and drink beer,” Dean counters, because Charlie will take that as a yes anyway, so what’s the point of saying anything further? She’ll get her claws in and drag it out of him, eventually, they both know that. 

“Sounds like a plan,” 

“Twelve percent of a plan, maybe.” 

“Dork,” Charlie grins, but chucks an x-box remote in his direction anyway. “So, spill.” 

“Now?” 

“You wanna tip toe around it for another half an hour, fine,” Charlie shrugs. 

Dean leaves it for about five minutes, rather than half an hour. Enough time for Charlie to have powered up the game and to be semi-concentrated on shooting aliens, which means that she’s at least not looking at him. 

“He doesn’t listen,” Dean says, “Because he’s some relationship guru and I’m a heathen. And he never takes responsibility for being a dick. I wanted space and he made me burgers. He just… doesn’t get it.” 

“He’s Castiel,” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, shooting his virtual gun a little too forcefully, “Which is awesome, ninety nine percent of the time. I just… I am the first to admit that me being me causes issues –” 

“– I’ll say,” 

“And Cas just _won’t_. We’ll be fine. Same problem as always, really.” 

“That you’d die for each other but don’t believe you can make each other happy?” 

“I was gonna say communication issues, but whatever,” Dean says, “I think Cas actually buys into this love conquers all crap.” 

“And you don’t?” 

“I don’t know,” Dean says, because he doesn’t. These days he implicitly believes that he and Cas will work out, but mostly because he believes they want it enough to work at it, not just because they’re in love and all that crap. He doesn’t believe that they won’t ever screw their relationship up just because of that, though, he just figures that they’re invested enough to forgive and forget most sins. It’s probably not a very healthy thing. “Do you?” 

“Dorothy told me she was moving a thousand miles in the other direction to me in the coffee shop where we had our first date,” Charlie says. On screen, a surprised alien takes four bullet wounds to the stomach. Bang, bang, bang, bang. “She said,” another alien goes down, “She wanted me to know first.” Another Alien doubles over, takes a couple more shots to the head. “So, either that’s love failing to conquer anything…With no epic quest or trial pulling us apart anyway, nothing but physical distance. A couple of measly miles. Or, we didn’t love each other enough. Or it just doesn’t matter.” 

Charlie looks visibly upset, which Dean isn’t used to. Charlie is tough as nails and with a hell of a thick skin, and seeing her not only miserable but also on the edge of actual tears just _sucks_. Dorothy sucks. Graduation sucks. Relationships suck. 

“Get over here, your highness,” Dean says, and Charlie drops the remote and lets Dean wrap his arms around her back. 

“When did you and Cas last get down and dirty?” Charlie asks, from the cocoon of his arms. Dean frowns at her and she pulls back, but doesn’t pick up the remote again. “What? I’m trying to establish how bad your argument is, and sex is like the first indicator for you guys. Like with water pollution and the mayfly larva.” 

“Ain’t nothing polluted,” Dean says, “You slept with Dorothy after she said she was leaving, didn’t you?” 

“I am weak willed,” Charlie shrugs, “And she is hot. And it’s gotta be over a week, or you’d have answered straight off.” 

“Like, two and a bit maybe?” 

“That’s like, the Destiel equivalent of six months.” 

“Destiel?” Dean repeats because, seriously, “That’s up there with boy juice, Charlie. I just… man, my head’s all messed up. I just feel dirty, and not in the sexy way.” 

“You told Cas that, or just brushed him off every time he comes near you? Because, you know, Castiel isn’t exactly all that smart when it comes to people, and he probably doesn’t know what he’s done wrong.” 

“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” 

“I know that, you know that, does Cas know that?” Dean groans. “Get to it, Winchester. You guys are my last proof that love is real.” 

“Don’t screw Dorothy again,” 

“Advice noted,” Charlie nods. Dean’s almost a hundred percent sure that she’s going to do it anyway, because people are masochistic and hopeless like that. He’d almost definitely do the same, if he was in Charlie’s position. Then again, he’s the type of over-invested screw up with no future planned, so he’d probably just follow Castiel across the country. 

He’s not entirely sure whether Castiel would do the same or not. 

He said he would, once. 

* 

Castiel is in bed when Dean gets home, his stomach lined with beer and feeling better for an evening having his ass beaten at video games. Part of him wants to head to his own room, but he’s aware that another night alone would tip them over to a new record, and he doesn’t want that. That would mean something, or at least would be something else to overthink, as he’s too good at overthinking without adding any further ammunition. 

“Hello Dean,” Castiel says, when Dean pushes open the door to Cas’ bedroom. He stays unobtrusively on his side of the bed, and Dean could kiss him for it, if that wouldn’t defeat the point of the gesture. Charlie _is_ right, though, as she normally is (apart from where her own car crash love life is concerned, but then that’s usually the case), he needs to at least explain to Cas why he’s turned into a prude in the past few weeks. 

Dean shrugs off his t-shirt and jeans in the relative gloom, and slips into bed. There is, he has discovered in recent times, nothing more awkward than sharing a bed with someone when you’re not talking to them. He has developed an understanding of the ‘sleeping on the sofa’ phenomena. Mostly, one of them winds up caving and talking. It’s easier in the dark, anyway. 

Dean’s not sure how much time passes whilst he’s building himself up to talk, but it’s more than he took with Charlie. The words are buried somewhere along with internal organs, so it figures it takes the time to tease them out. 

“Cas, it’s just, when I get like this, because I’m a self-indulgent, destructive asshole, I do crap that will make me feel worse.” Dean says. He can hear Cas turn over to face him, but Dean stays staring resolutely at the ceiling. “So, I drink and then it's easier to remind myself that I'm basically all of my dad's shit bits wrapped up prettier. And I do dumb things that justify feeling washed out and hollow and just crap. Like, with Pam and Bela and... and Alistair.” 

He doesn’t talk about the stuff with Alistair as a rule, because a lot of that was dubious consent and messed up and plain messy. Cas knows all about it, anyway, and he never thought less of Dean from it, but it just doesn’t come up in conversation all that much. Dean is very grateful about that. 

“Man, I knew what I was getting into. I knew how much I'd feel like a fuck up after. And I... It's different with you, obviously. You've never made me feel shitty. Except maybe when we were sleeping together and not talking, but that wasn't about the sex, just the rest of it. And I'm not saying that I'd use you to make me believe all these crap stuff about myself, or even that that’s possible, but I'm saying I think I might try and I don't wanna do that. So I just...” 

“Want space,” Castiel finishes. 

“Yeah, dude. Obviously I'm here if you need me, but I'm just trying to get my head out of this rut and it's easier when I'm not second guessing every conversation we have. And maybe I’m doing the same damn thing by pushing you away, but that seems safer I guess.” 

“May I touch you?” Cas asks, voice deep and gentle and enough to coax Dean into shifting over to look at him properly. Cas is all blue stares and serious expression, like he often is, and… yeah, goddamn, it would have been much easier to tell Cas this weeks ago. Maybe. This stuff sits on his chest. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. 

He gets a feather light touch skating across his thigh. It’s completely separate from sex, but intimate and unassuming and pretty damn reassuring, actually. Cas shouldn’t be able to convey so much with just one fucking touch, but Dean’s unspeakably grateful. 

“Sorry ‘bout being such a fuck up.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, “As you said, I know exactly who you are. And as I have said, multiple times, no one thinks you’re a fuck up as much as you think you’re a fuck up.” 

Dean sighs. 

He still feels pretty conflicted about it, but not as much as he had done even a few hours ago, so he rolls his way over to Castiel’s side of the bed and presses his forehead against the guy’s shoulder. The physical contact is nice. It still always seems to surprise him how solid and real Castiel is. Cas doesn’t push any further into his personal space. Dean decides, maybe half an hour later, that tonight he’d actually like him too, and subsequently remoulds their position so that their spooning. He might have possibly woken Cas up in the process, but Cas doesn’t protest the interruption to his sleep and wraps an arm around Dean’s middle without comment. No one really needs to know that, sometimes, Dean really quite likes being the little spoon. 

* 

The next morning is better, if not exactly perfect. 

Cas is determinedly being as unobtrusive as possible, meaning he’s already up and in the main room by the time Dean’s registered that the bed’s suddenly got a lot colder. It’s good, though, because it means somewhere between yesterday and today Castiel started _listening_. It probably helped that Dean started saying everything in terms that Cas was actually prepared to listened to, so it’s a compromise of sorts. 

“Coffee?” Dean mutters, as he heads into their kitchen. Cas hasn’t made any visible attempt at breakfast and still looks drawn out and a little miserable, but at least Dean hasn’t got the puppy eyes to match. Cas doesn’t so much answer as jerk his head slightly, which Dean’s taking as a yes. “You got lectures and crap today?” 

“Yes, Dean, I generally have lectures on a weekday.” 

“All right, smart ass,” Dean returns, “We got plans this weekend or what?” 

“Do you want to have plans this weekend?” Cas asks, and that smacks a little of him still being a bit pissed that Dean’s half holding affection ransom. He seems to catch himself in the act, though, and frowns at the table instead. Dean snorts and hands the guy a cup of coffee. 

“Man, I dunno, I just… trying to make conversation,” 

“You’re not doing a very good job of it,” Cas says, “Thank you for the coffee. How’s Charlie?” 

“Cliff notes, Dorothy is hauling ass to California, and now they’re screwing again,” Dean says, slumping down into the seat opposite Cas and watching him, “She went on about how me ‘n you are end game and shit after her fifth beer. And before, actually.” 

Cas' face twists in a way that Dean figures means something’s slightly off about what he just said, and he’d hazard a guess that it was the endgame comment (Cas is fairly nonplussed about all the final year relationship dramas and has expressed vague frustration at Dean becoming an agony aunty for half of his friends) which is kind of surprising because it's one of those things Dean assumed they were on the same page about. "Cas," Dean says, frowning. 

Cas gets the question, even if Dean didn't quite voice it. 

"I thought... Becky asked about the seriousness of our decision to remain living together." 

Dean holds his gaze for a few long moments before it slots into place. 

"And you figured I was listening and that's why I'm acting all distant? Man, what do people think we're gonna do? Start travelling backwards and go live with other people?" 

"I thought you were questioning our future." 

“Huh,” Dean says, meeting Cas’ gaze head on. Sometimes he forgets that Cas has a couple of buckets of inadequacy and self-confidence issues, too. "The future, yeah. Not you. Not us. You're the only damn thing I'm certain about. It pretty much hit me about how huge this is," Dean says, gesturing vaguely between them, "but only cause it just seemed all natural for us, and the onlookers are pressing their noses against the glass and asking whether we're ready or some crap." 

"But I used to be able to help when you were upset and..." 

"Jesus, Cas, you're not on trial. I'm not seeing how you'll handle me being a dick and then deciding whether or not to keep you. Your position is secure. Don't... don't worry about that." 

"Because we're endgame?" 

"Right, man,” Dean says, “And, the … other stuff. It’s like what I said last night. And, Cas, man, it used to be that we’d like… if you wanted to get laid you’d go call up Meg or Crowley or whatever, and then if you want to talk about how Michael and Lucifer are gits, or watch Star Wars and eat take out you’d go to me. Now, we get all that…stuff wrapped up in one package – which is awesome, for the record – but it figures that sometimes we’d need stuff from outside people, too. I mean, I’m pretty sure that’s just healthy,” Dean pauses to take a generous sip of coffee, “And I’m pretty sure I’d be in pre-graduation funk if we weren’t fucking. Probably more so. So just, we’re good Cas. I promise.” 

Cas meets his eyes, gaze all blue and vulnerable, and Dean feels like the biggest douchebag on the planet. 

“Unless you got a problem with us?” 

“I do not,” 

“Well then,” Dean says, and finishes the rest of his coffee. Castiel is still watching him and suddenly it’s too suffocating and too much all over again, but Dean’s messed up headspace has been making Castiel feel like crap, and that just twists everything in his head again. 

“Dean,” Cas says, voice velvet deep and frustrated, like he knows that Dean’s adding another layer of blame into this, “My misinterpretation of the situation is not your fault.” 

“No one’s at fault, no relationships are in trouble, capisce?” 

“I capisce,” 

“Have a good day, Cas,” Dean says, hovering half in and out of his chair before he makes his decision, and steps forward to drop a brief kiss on Cas’ frown. It’s not a particularly Dean-ish gesture, but Cas grabs the front of his shirt and makes a valiant attempt at a smile before releasing him. 

“You too, Dean.” 

It probably wouldn’t qualify as a good day, but it’s certainly better than the week that proceeds it. 

* 

_Does sending a snapchat violate your space?_

If it were anyone but Cas, Dean would be sure the text message was passive aggressive, but Dean’s pretty sure the guy is now just desperately trying to stick to Dean’s largely undefined boundaries. Which, actually, is probably the closest thing to Cas screaming that he’s trying his hardest to listen from the rooftops. It’s practically a romantic gesture. 

_Send me the snapchat, dude_

The snapchat turns out to be a program from some drama society pantomime, wherein Garth is listed as playing the tooth fairy. He gets a good laugh out of that as well as a slightly disturbing text messages. 

Dean pulls up their text messages again. They’re minimal and sporadic over the past couple of weeks, before eventually fading back into flirting and teasing and texting about getting more groceries. Dean runs a hand over his forehead before typing out a reply. 

_Let’s go see it_. 

_You can’t be serious._. 

_Oh no he isn’t_ Dean sends, grinning, and then _oh yes he is_. 

_We should put this behind us. It’s behind me. I would like it to be behind you too._

_Love you, you ass_ Dean types out and sends, feeling lighter than he has for the past couple of days. Cas texts him back almost immediately with a smiley face and it’s so frigging stupid that the exchange makes him feel so much better, or that the smiley face inspires a mixture of affectionate resignation and genuine happiness. 

Damn. 

* 

There is absolutely no way in hell that he can get all his fucking reading done, he thinks he might actually hate his degree and one of the jobs that he thought might actually be okay rejected him this morning. He’s back to being a het up, frustrated ball of tension and Castiel didn’t need the memo about space this time. 

Or at least, Dean didn’t think so. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, approaching the sofa where’s he’s glaring at the stupid frigging textbook and willing some of it to make some kind of sense, because it could be written in a different language and it wouldn’t make a difference about how incomprehensible it is. Fucking final year. 

“Yeah,” 

“Would… would it help to see Sam?” 

“What?” Dean asks, the wind knocked out of him, as he glances up at Castiel. “Sam?” 

“Your brother,” 

“Yeah, I got that, Sherlock,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “Cas, I don’t have time to make the drive to Sioux Falls,” 

“He is able to drive down with Bobby this weekend if you want to see him.” 

“What?” Dean asks, “Why?” 

“Because… I asked him,” Cas says, holding his arms awkwardly, “You miss Sam. I thought it might… help.” Dean blinks at him. “I’m intruding on your space,” Cas nods, “I told Sam I hadn’t ascertained whether you had time yet, he won’t be offended when I tell him not to come.” 

“Cas, shut up,” Dean says, “Give me a minute,” 

Cas’ lips snap shut. Dean hasn’t seen him hold himself this stiffly and awkwardly around Dean for years. It’s part adorable part weirdly foreign. 

“You called Sam and asked him if he could come?” Dean asks, because, shit. Shit. That’s beyond listening to the crap Dean was actually saying, and skips right on over to reading all the stuff he’s been keeping locked up on his head. That’s Castiel taking it to heart that, regardless of how brilliant their relationship is, they still need other people. That’s Castiel knowing him inside out and not caring that sometimes Dean just really needs his little brother. 

“I have been… worried.” Castiel says, because he’s still second guessing himself. 

“God damn, but you are the best boyfriend,” Dean says, swallowing, “Cas.” 

“You do want him to come,” 

“Get over here,” Dean mutters, tanging his fingers in Castiel’s t-shirt and dragging him closer. “Thank you, man,” Dean says, holding the guy close. He has missed closeness. He’s missed feeling normal and happy and messing around. He’s really missed not feeling heavy. 

“I wanted to make it better,” 

“You do, Cas,” Dean says, sliding his hands under his t-shirt to get to Cas’ skin and his body heat. “I can’t even… I need you, man.” 

“Talk to me, Dean,” Castiel says, deep and rumbling and more of a command, actually, because Cas is prepared to call Dean out on his bullshit, whilst being willing to follow him across to California if that’s what Dean thinks he needs. Cas told him that. He’s not sure how he managed to forget that. Maybe he has selective remembering to match Cas’ selective hearing. 

Dean ceremoniously dumps his textbook on the floor and pulls Cas onto the sofa with him, locking his arms around his middle. If he’s going to talk and Cas is going to listen, then he’s doing it with the maximum amount of body contact he can get. 

“Dean,” 

“Cas,” Dean shoots back, closing his eyes for a brief second, “What are you even doing with me, man?” Dean exhales, as Cas looks at him like he’s special. “I got no job, no money, no plans, no ambition, no anything. Gonna walk out of this place with an average degree from an above average college, a load of debt and you, and that’s it. Sam’s gonna have to borrow money off Ellen and Bobby to go to Stanford. He’ll have to work part time.” 

“You have worked through your degree, Dean.” 

Well, except for the past few weeks, at least. He worked a couple of jobs through summer, too, when Cas was miles away and hardly ever answering his phone. 

“Yeah but,” Dean sighs, allowing Cas to trace the line of his jaw with his thumb even though it’s kinda odd and super overtly affectionate, “I was supposed to put Sam through college, Cas. They sold me this deal ‘cause Sam was supposed to get a better shot with me in college, but we’re just further up shit creek. I just… I haven’t achieved anything, Cas.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, “Before college, you were in the closet with a multitude of masculinity issues and, as you put them, daddy issues. You were too self-deprecating to allow yourself good things. You thought your only purpose in life was to look after Sam.” 

“Not seeing that much difference here, Cas.” 

“Although close, I would not now classify you and Sam as unhealthily co-dependent. Your family know and largely accept your bisexuality. You have your own friends and your own life. After nearly dropping out of high school to pay household bills, you have very nearly managed to complete a degree. You stood up for yourself in front of your father. Dean, you _came out_ to your father and talked to teenagers about your own previous damaging beliefs about masculinity and sexuality. You are in a long term relationship.” 

“Long term, huh?” 

“Dean,” Cas chastises, “You are a very different person to the one I met four years ago.” 

“A better one?” 

“Happier,” 

“You too,” Dean says, resting their foreheads together, “Finally got that stick out your ass.” 

“For which I’m sure your dick is very grateful,” Cas deadpans back. 

“Man, I’m never gonna get enough of you,” Dean grins, “You’re frigging unbelievable.” 

“I’m amenable to this plan.” 

Dean’s pretty sure he’s not feeling entirely better, but at least enough that he feels like he’s allowed to kiss his long-term boyfriend just because he wants to. Enough that everything doesn’t feel quite as hopeless. Enough that he doesn’t feel like someone’s carved out his insides with a spoon. 

“Thanks for… with Sam,” Dean says, quiet and raw, and Cas just nods and kisses him again. 

It’s probably the first time they’ve made out on the sofa for a while, which is pretty weird but no doubt explains why everything trips over from intense-chick-flick-moment-turned-lazy-make-out to Cas pinning him to the sofa and kissing him like it’s going out of style. Dean’s pretty sure the only reason Dean still has clothes on is because Cas has the conversation from a few nights going round their head. 

Which is good, because Dean’s pretty sure he’s not there yet and he’s crap at saying no to Cas. It’s a damn good job that Cas can read his body language so well, really. 

“Cas,” Dean breathes, “As much as I want to re-consummate, I gotta do this reading before tomorrow or Missouri will skin me alive. And last time you were ‘quick’ you must have been a fuck away from being a virgin.” 

“Virginity is a constructed concept,” 

“Not arguing with you,” Dean says. 

“Sam will be here all weekend,” Castiel says, sitting up and giving Dean space to move. That’s a thinly veiled hint, if Dean’s ever heard one, but it’s not a particularly pushy one. Plus, it’s probably a good point. Dean feels significantly better right now and will probably even more after he’s Sam, at which point his sex drive is probably going to kick in with a vengeance. He doesn’t want Sam here just as he wants to be all over Cas. 

“We’ll do something tomorrow,” Dean says, “After sex Ed.” 

* 

“Bowling,” Dean repeats, looking up at Cas over his morning coffee. Dean crawled into Cas’ bed late after finishing his reading last night and woke up with Cas curled up against his chest. And, had he not be intensely worried about missing the seminar he was up all night preparing for, he’d have woken him up to suggest illicit morning sex. He was definitely feeling less dead again. More like he wishes he had a decent chunk of time to hang out with Cas without future worries sitting heavy in the back of his brain. “Dude, are you trying to seduce me via the medium of bowling?” 

Cas smiles at his tone. 

“You attempted it first, Dean.” 

Dean has a seminar and two hours of lectures before he’s picking Cas up and driving them to their current (and probably last) high school to let them ask questions about sex. Apparently, after that Cas wants to go frigging bowling. It sounds a lot more awesome than it should. 

“Hey that was totally innocent friends helping friends,” Dean says. “Would it have worked?” 

"Where you're concerned, I've always been fairly easy," Castiel says, "So had you followed through, I suspect it would." 

"So the sweaty shoes and the teenage audience does it for you, huh?" Dean grins, standing up to collect his toast from the toaster. Sam is coming to visit him in a few days and, later, he’s going bowling with Cas. Today is a good morning. 

"No, Dean, you 'do it for me'." 

"I'm pretty broke." Dean hedges. 

"I'll take you out," Castiel says. 

"Definitely trying to get into my pants," Dean says, "but yeah, date night, awesome.” 

Dean pauses in his return to his seat to get all up close and personal in Cas’ space, because Cas is still keeping his distance and this second Dean doesn’t want him to. 

“Although, I gotta say,” Dean continues, “Bowling is some weird ass foreplay.” 

"Dean," Cas mutters, low and serious, then kisses him. They’re back to that again, apparently, which is good. They’re good. Dean feels like his chest might actually split in half, because he doesn't feel cold inside anymore. And Cas can still make him oddly nervous, in that first date kind of way, whilst easing over all the shit going on in his gut and making it seem manageable again. Cas loves him. It's sort of pathetic how much he needs that. 

"That's my name," Dean says, kissing him again, "Don't wear it out." 

"If that were possible I'm sure I would have done it by now." Cas deadpans, "How are you, Dean?" 

"Better, I think," Dean says, "And how are you holding up, man? Haven't been much use to you lately." 

"I don't keep you around for your use, Dean." Cas says, and then, "It's for your dick." 

Dean grins, "You haven't had much of that lately, either." 

"I don't-" 

"I know, Cas, you're fine," Dean says, "And we're gonna be fine. And I'm always pretty damn fine." 

"I will agree to pretty." 

"Watch your mouth," 

"I'd rather watch yours," Cas says, and now Dean’s pretty much sandwiched between Cas and the table, which is absolutely a-okay, even if Cas is watching him as if expecting Dean to change his mind and tell him to piss off. 

"Later," Dean says, smoothing his hands over Castiel's hips, because that's near enough to a verbal yes that Cas will get that this is all okay, "You can watch my mouth suck you off." Cas kisses him again, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck, and shit has Dean missed loosing time to necking with Cas. Goddamn. 

"There's no time like the present," 

"No, dude, you promised me bowling and seduction. I'm excited. Haven't seen your moves for a while." 

Which is mostly because Dean is entirely easy when it comes to Cas too (at least, when he doesn't feel chewed out and hollow); it's not like they don't still flirt and dick around, because that's one of their relationship staples, he just kinda misses the foreplay type crap. Lately they've been pushed for time and working on being economical with it, but their best sex has always been when they've been dancing round it all day, whether by text or snapchat or actual conversation. 

"Need you, Cas," Dean says, quiet. 

"Likewise," Cas returns, pressing their foreheads together. 

* 

"Do you feel sufficiently seduced by our bowling experience?" Castiel asks, throwing his trench coat on the back of the sofa and turning to face him. 

He slipped a bit during the day, but then Cas put their names into the machine as obscure sex positions and then slaughtered him at bowling, and Cas was laughing and then Dean didn't feel like so much of a screw up. Certainly, the Castiel of freshman year wouldn't laugh out loud at one of Dean’s inappropriate jokes. He probably wouldn't even agree to go bowling. Cas had changed, too, freer, more confident, more socially literate. That alone is probably worth four years his life and all the debt. 

"The trench coat not on its damn hook is a real turn off, gotta say." 

"How will you ever get an erection again?" Cas returns with an eye roll, but picks the trench coat up and hangs it up anyway. For something that has genuinely annoyed him for a good three years, it’s probably not normal to have a degree of affection invested in Cas’ mild irritation at Dean’s going on about the damn trench coat. 

(Although, seriously, how frigging hard is it to hang the damn thing up?) 

"Too late. Seduction level reset to zero.” 

"Strip poker," Cas says with a quirk of the eyebrow and, well, Dean's never once said no to strip poker with Cas. Even if he has a track record of losing every single game they’ve ever played, because Cas has that steadfast poker face and some bizarre lifelong lucky streak. “Or, if you would prefer not to lose catastrophically for the second time today, we could skip to the nudity.” 

“Nice try, man,” Dean says, “Your beginner’s luck has to end some time.” 

“It’s been three years, Dean,” Cas says, retrieving a pack of cards from where they’re apparently kept next to the take out menus. 

Dean decides, on balance, that he won’t take his leather jacket off quite yet. 

He’ll probably need the extra lives. 

* 

"Is our sex life like, normal?" 

It's probably not the opportune moment, given they're most of the way through strip poker which Dean is most definitely loosing. If, that is, being a pair of boxers short of butt naked in their front room whilst Castiel, fully dressed, stares at his exposed skin like he's Michael Angelo's David or some shit, counts as a loss. Dean's not entirely sure. 

Still, it's been buzzing round his brain for a while and it just sort of fell out of his mouth. 

"Is answering this question an alternative to me taking off my shirt? Because in which case our states of undressed will never be equalised." 

"Yeah, like I'd take a talking point over seeing you topless." Dean says, gesturing at him to continue unbutton in his shirt. He sort of leers for added effect. 

"Your perversion never fails to astound me," Cas says, and takes off his shirt. It's not like it's been a _long time_ since he's seen Cas without his gear, but it's been longer than normal. He looks good, like always, but better for the fact that Dean’s had his hands (and probably his tongue) on every inch of the guy’s skin. Dean knows where all his buttons are. What he likes. He always figured it would make sex kinda boring, knowing all of that, but it just means it’s that the sex is better and they have infinitely more fun having it. "By most heteronormative standards we are unusual because our intercourse involves two penises." 

"Is penises the plural of penis? Usually just go with dicks and have done." 

"I know," Cas says, tilting an eyebrow, "In homosexual male relationships, I suppose we might be considered unusual because we switch positions regularly." 

"Not what I meant, Mr Sex Ed." 

"There is no normal, Dean, it's sex." 

"Still like averages and mediums and shit. And no, dude, do not make a sex jokes about the psychic kind of mediums. Point is, the... you know, messing around and the technically perfunctory foreplay, and strip poker, and dick pancake jokes and laughing during sex and stuff?" 

"Are you referring to the story I told at Newton High?" 

Dean sighs, because he honestly didn't mean to make this about that. The argument they'd half had wasn't anything to do with Cas being too forthcoming at Newton High, it was just a symptom of their communication issues and all the rest. And that wasn't Cas' fault. Dean didn't usually have a problem with it. 

"That ballpark." 

"It was a wide throw." 

"You caught it, shut up." 

"I've been informed I don't always listen, so I'm making a marked effort." 

"Okay, fine," Dean says, because if Cas can listen then he can talk. Maybe. Better than emotionally opening himself up to a brick well, at any rate. "Kinda about what you were saying to them, but then Charlie and her may fly water pollution, then cause me being me we hit a kind of dry spell, I got thinking and figured maybe we just have some freaky - deaky sex life.." 

"Do you enjoy our sex life?" 

"Why don't you cop a feel and find out?" Dean leers. 

He's not sure why he's not expecting Cas to take him up on it. Of course he does. It’s Cas. 

"I believe there was more enjoyment before this diversion. Should I put on and take off my shirt again?" 

"Deal the cards," Dean grumbles, because he probably has a point. He was way into this before he started thinking too hard and he only really let Cas direct them into strip poker rather than straight to sex because if they screw, they’re both exhausted enough that they’re going to wind up sleeping straight after, and Dean wants them to hang out and shit. He also wants to get laid though, so there’s that. 

"Perhaps it would be easier to speak directly with little Dean." 

"Don't be an asshat." 

"I apologise," Cas says, "Adequately sized Dean." 

"I aint getting in on this," 

"Dean's dick," Cas says, in his familiar deadpan, glancing downwards towards his crotch region. The gaze is laser focus and makes Dean feel like he’s under some kind of spotlight. And Dean might have managed to hold on to his boxers, but Cas still had his sodding sweater on before the round where Dean had a flush. "Do you enjoy the quantity, quality and content of our joint sexual encounters?" 

"This shit right here is kind of what I'm talking about," Dean says, as Cas continues to stare resolutely at his boxer clad dick. 

"Do ignore the brain you are indirectly attached too, Dean's dick, as in this instance his opinion is largely irrelevant." 

"For the record, this is also patronising." 

"He over analyses and obsesses about your welfare," Cas continues, "Psychoanalyses your likes and dislikes and has expressed concerns over your ability to fit in." 

"This took a weird parents evening turn." 

"It’s because he loves you very much." 

"Definitely got that line from a kid’s councillor before," Dean says, "And Sam’s parents evening when Dad was a no show." 

Cas _finally_ looks up from his dick, a smile creeping at the corners of his mouth. Dean’s mostly glad because he hopes this diversion into weird dick-talking is now over, but knowing Cas it probably isn’t. God. 

“I will grade you A+ for effort." 

This line of conversation, he can work with. 

“If I psychoanalyse my dick than you hypnotise it. You're the dick whisper. And A+ for _effort_ , my ass, we get straight As across the board. A+ for consent, A+ for rocking your fucking world, A- for audio affects.” 

“You don't appreciate the audio effects?” 

“I appreciate them just fine. Lost half a grade cause the neighbours complained.” 

“Don't blame the dick whisper for excess noise Dean,” Cas says, finally meeting his eyes again. “The clue is in the name.” 

That sounds like a quote and it takes several moments of narrowing his eyes at Cas and thinking back to Charlie’s corrupting influence before he’s there. 

“You been watching Sherlock again?” 

“As you said, we hit a dry spell.” 

“So you re-watched British TV whilst we weren't having sex?” Dean asks, because although not all that surprising, it is a little bit adorable. 

“I don't wish to ruin your illusion Dean, but I do many things whilst we were not having sex.” Cas shoots back, still half-smiling and a little self-satisfied and now definitely sitting too close to play a reasonable game of poker. They rarely finish strip poker anyway, so whatever. 

“Like talk down to my dick, apparently.” 

“Would you prefer me to talk it up?” 

“Yeah, man, that'd be golden right about now.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, voice tipping into serious. “In regards to the quantity of sex, I would say that generally we both have higher than average sex drives, that we are college students with few contact hours and a tendency to fall back on sex as a coping mechanism" 

"And quality?" 

Cas gives him a look like he knows Dean's not really fishing for compliments. "We are very sexually compatible." 

"Damn right," 

"Largely because we are very comfortable with each other and sex generally. As for content... I doubt fucking whilst quoting frozen is a normal occurrence per say, strip poker more so. I believe the humour and the 'dicking around' is a side effect of sleeping with your best friend." 

"Yeah," Dean says, shuffling and redealing the cards event though it’s pointless. "And you don't mind that I'm..." Dean gestures vaguely in a way that he hopes encapsulates the fact that Dean had sort of none - purposefully been avoiding sex and his Cas has the higher sex drive, anyway. "... What I was saying about the seducing stuff," 

"I take great pleasure in seducing you, Dean Winchester," Castiel says, leaning forward and taking the cards from between his fingers. "And I will continue to do so." 

"That a side effect of insanity?" 

"Love,” 

Cas pulls crap like that semi-regularly, so it shouldn’t still have the power to make him flush. That doesn’t mean his skin isn’t glowing red hot embarrassment, though. Damn. 

"Sap," Dean mutters, but pulls Cas over the rest of the distance and half into his lap, hands settling on the curve of his bare hips. "Mark me down as seduced and horny." 

"I will mark you down as those things when I have rectified the situation." 

“Deal,” Dean grins, and kisses him. 

* 

“You gotta get up, man.” 

“Why?” Cas mumbles into his chest, sleepy and awesome. 

“Cause your alarms going off, “Dean returns, eyes still shut. He likes it when Cas does crap like curl up against him or fall asleep in his chest, cause Cas is this intimidating bad ass guy who cares more about being close to his boyfriend than being manly. It gives licence for Dean to act like a sap whenever, but also, even though it's probably illogical, it makes him feel like the protective manly-ass boyfriend and that maybe Cas _thinks_ of him like that, and that's always pretty awesome. 

“And if you don't get up the alarms gonna continue going off and the noise pollution aint gonna help me sleep.” Cas leans over Dean to grab his phone and slide over to 'off' before dropping it again, remaining splayed over Dean's chest. “You gotta get up too, man.” Dean says, moving the shoulder that Cas is leaning on as an equivalent to nudging the guy. 

“I do not want to get it up.” 

“Talk all authoritative like that you'll be getting me up.” 

“Yes please.” 

“Cas. College. Degrees.” Dean says, running a finger up Cas’ spine absentmindedly. 

“I don't care,” 

“You say that now, couple of hours’ time you'll be biting my head off for me letting you stay in bed.” Dean returns, hand pausing at the base of Cas’ back. Cas _does _have a history of blaming Dean for being late to crap, even though Dean’s not the one incapable of a quickie, and the number of times Cas has made him late for crap. He doesn’t mind, really, apart from the days where Cas is pissing him off for some other reason.__

 _ _“Neither of us are leaving this apartment today, Dean.”__

 _ _

“I got lectures.” 

“This is more important,” Cas says, one hand now causally tracing over his skin. Before, he’d been too intent in using Dean’s chest as a pillow. 

“There’s something more important than college?” Dean asks, widening his eyes in mock horrow. Cas frowns at him. 

“Dean,” Cas chastises, tilting his head up to look at him. Dean gets a straight on view of his baby blues and is pretty sure he's going to agree with whatever Cas says they're doing, even if it involved public nudity or almost out of date cream or whatever. “You once told me skipping was an important part of the curriculum.” 

“I say a lot of dumb crap.” 

“I want to spend all day in bed with you because we are important.” 

“Okay, I’m sold,” Dean says, shifting slightly because his arm is going dead under Cas’ weight. 

“No degrees, no jobs and no future plans are allowed in this room until further notice.” 

“That's right, dude, talk dirty to me.” 

“Shush.” Cas says, pressing a finger to Dean's lips and then looping one of his arms round Dean's neck, right index finger still pressing against his lips. 

“So you got me in bed and now you just wanna sleep, huh?” Dean asks, some of the stupid affection he has for Cas, sleepy and vulnerable and needy, spilling into his voice. Cas tightens his grip. 

“I will rip your clothes off with due enthusiasm after I have had a lie in.” 

“Not wearing any clothes,” Dean says, closing his eyes and letting Cas pull him back into sleep. 

He forgets to turn off his morning alarm, of course, but it doesn’t seem to disrupt sleep day that much. 

* 

“D’you remember that time we had really crappy drunken sex after Charlie’s end of campaign party?” Dean asks, as Cas reappears in the bedroom with two cups of coffee. Cas is butt naked and may or may not have a couple of hickeys that he doesn’t know about yet, but then that could be true of Dean too. They both probably look debauched and like an advert for the homophobe’s worse nightmare. The gay agenda, skipping college edition. 

“You were very enthusiastic.” 

“Parts of me were,” Dean returns, taking the coffee out of Cas’ hand and smiling at the ceiling. “Would you ever be with someone who was still in the closet?” 

Cas tilts his head at him slightly. 

“I think I would find navigating social situations difficult,” 

“Yeah, you ain’t exactly subtle,” 

“You didn’t notice I was in love with you for four years,” Cas says, “I can’t be that obvious.” 

“So that’s a no?” 

“Not necessarily,” Cas says, “I wouldn’t wish to force anyone out of the closet, but I object to the idea of being anyone’s secret.” 

“Say… say we backtrack a couple of years, and I couldn’t tell my Dad.” 

“With you, I doubt I would care,” Cas says, “Or at least, care enough that it would matter.” 

“Dude, you get frustrated enough when I won’t hold your hand or whatever in front of Bobby and Sam.” 

“We don’t hold hands, generally. Why would we do so in front of your family?” 

“You know what I mean, Cas, don’t be a dick,” Dean says, taking a sip of his coffee and nudging Cas with his shoulder. 

“I get frustrated because you know they don’t care and because it would be easier for you to be yourself. I understand that it’s difficult I just…” Cas trails off, “Is this about your father?” 

“I dunno,” Dean says, “Just thinking.” 

“Maybe don’t,” Cas says, and Dean half hates it when Cas throws back crap Dean’s said and half loves it, but either way it has him rolling his eyes and Cas plucking the coffee out of Dean’s hands to kiss him again, because apparently that’s top of the agenda this morning. 

But, okay, maybe don’t think. That could work. 

* 

As subtle as Cas probably thought he was being, Sam still seemed to pick up on the fact that Dean isn’t doing so well. So, half way through their day of skipping uni and doing couple stuff, he checks his phone to find that Sam has called him four times over the course of the morning. 

“Sammy, what’s up?” Dean says, when Sam has finally answered. 

“You didn’t answer your phone,” 

“Yeah, well, I’m a busy guy,” Dean says, and he’s pretty sure that Sam can read between the lines and work out that him and Cas were probably mid-coitus each and every time the phone rang. “You driving down this weekend?” 

And then Sam is telling him about school and travel plans and how he’s done all of his homework, and that kind of crap, whilst Cas is frowning at their food cupboard. Apparently, lunch is proving difficult to locate. 

“What’s going on, Dean?” 

“Nothing, man, I’m good,” Dean sighs, slumping down on the kitchen table, “Just got Charlie having a relationship meltdown on my left and it turns out the love of Benny’s life is a bitch, and then there’s college.” 

“I don’t see how she can be the love of his life, given that several months ago he was sleeping with you,” Cas interjects from the kitchen, probably quiet enough that he wasn’t expecting Dean to answer. Dean knows that Cas isn’t enamoured with the idea of him and Benny being friends but then, likewise, Dean doesn’t love that Cas is friends with Crowley and Meg. They’ve both slept with too many people to be picky about that. Sort of had to call in water under the bridge and move on. 

“Yeah well, Cas, you’re the frigging love of my life and I was sleeping with him right back several months ago, so just…” 

“Cute, Dean,” Sam says from down the other end of the phone, and Dean had mostly forgotten that Sam could still hear him even though, yes, that’s exactly how phones work. Frigging phones. 

“Ah, shit,” Dean mutters, but then Cas has abandoned his search for food and is essentially trying to crawl into his lap, beaming at him. “Cas, get off me. Sam. Phone.” 

“Hello, Sam,” Cas says, in the direction of the phone. 

“Yeah, that’s my cue to hang up,” Sam says, “See you soon.” 

“Bye, Sam,” Dean says, then Cas has taken the phone of his hand and placed it on the table. 

“I am exceedingly glad you are no longer sleeping with Benny,” Cas says, voice breathy and hot against his skin. 

“Likewise, man,” Dean says, letting himself smile back, even if that whole love-of-my-life thing was basically an accident. He didn’t meant to let such sap full out of his mouth. He'd also meant to have an actual conversation with Sam, before Cas sabotaged it. “Benny probably is too, given that last fuck up.” 

“Shut up,” Cas says. 

Dean does.

__

**Author's Note:**

> Ps. I accidentally started writing their graduation too. So that's going to happen.


End file.
